Page 69 of Reaper's Ruin
Then that scream had torn through the ballroom, and shattered the moment.
A soft knock at the outer chamber door interrupted my thoughts.
“Soraya?” Rhyker’s deep voice called from the sitting room. “There’s a messenger. We’ve been invited to join the royal hunting party this morning.”
I pinched my nose. Hunting? I’d never cared for hunting, and definitely had no desire to shoot anything myself. I loved animals and had a hard time even eating meat without seeing a cute face mocking me from my plate. But the fact we’d been invited into the inner circle was progress at getting me closer to that man I’d seen last night. The one I was pretty damn sure had stuck a knife into my chest.
“Coming!” I called back, then I slipped into the blue dress Rhyker had picked out when we’d gone shopping. It was simpler than last night’s gown but still finer than anything I’d ever owned in life. After dressing, I hurried into the sitting room of our suite.
Rhyker stood by the window, already dressed in hunting attire that made him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual. The dark blue jacket with silver trim emphasized his incredible physique, and the high boots gave him an even more commanding presence.
“Royal hunting party?” I asked, trying not to stare at how perfect he looked.
“Prince Alaric has invited us to join,” he said, his expression carefully neutral. “After your heroics last night, we’re honorary members of the court now.”
“So that’s... good?” I ventured.
“It puts us closer to the royal family,” he admitted. “And potentially to your killer.”
My killer. We were so close now. Somewhere in this castle was the man who had stabbed me to death in my own living room. Who had murdered my mother.
“Then let’s go find him,” I said, squaring my shoulders.
An attendant led us through the castle’s winding corridors and out to the royal stables. A warm breeze blew through my hair, bringing with it the sweet smell of flowers in the gardens we passed by. Even with the storm raging high above the mountain peak, somehow the rest of the surrounding area was bathed in warm sunlight. A perfect summer morning. Another oddity of this strange land I’d found myself in.
Prince Alaric was already there, dressed in elaborate hunting attire, surrounded by a small entourage. He was handsome in an obvious way. Though I would almost refer to him as “pretty” rather than handsome. Not feminine, but not the kind of guy you’d expect to see cracking skulls and swinging swords like Rhyker. He almost looked like my favorite Grey’s Anatomy crush, Jackson Avery, but instead of a close cut, he had a different, slightly longer hairstyle. If it weren’t for the fact I was irrevocably smitten with the hulking, brooding form of Death standing beside me, I’d have probably gotten a little swoony over him.
His face brightened when he saw us. “Lady Soraya! Lord Rhyker! I’m delighted you could join us.” His gaze lingered on mea moment longer than necessary, something Rhyker clearly noticed judging by the slight tension in his jaw.
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Royal Highness,” I replied with what I hoped was an appropriate curtsy I’d practiced last night.
“Please, call me Alaric.” The prince smiled warmly. “After what you did for my brother, formality seems unnecessary.” He gestured toward a magnificent Stormsteed being led from its stall. “Would you like to see my mount? He’s the finest in the royal stables.”
“I’d be honored.” I followed along behind him.
The Stormsteed was even more impressive up close—its feathers a deep midnight blue that shimmered with highlights when it moved. Its silver eyes regarded me with intelligent curiosity as we approached.
“This is Thunderheart,” Alaric said proudly, stroking the creature’s neck. “He’s descended from a long line of royal mounts. I raised him from a hatchling.”
“He’s magnificent,” I breathed, genuinely awestruck.
I felt Rhyker’s presence behind me before he spoke. “Remember,” he murmured in my ear, his voice so low only I could hear, “you’re supposed to be from the Eastern Reaches. Don’t act too impressed by a Stormsteed.”
He was right. A noble from the Storm Court territories, even a sheltered one, wouldn’t gawk at these creatures like they were something extraordinary.
I composed my expression into one of polite appreciation rather than wide-eyed wonder. “He has excellent conformation,” I said, using a term I vaguely remembered from the summer horse camp I’d attended as a child. “Strong wings, good bone structure.”
Alaric beamed. “You have a good eye, Lady Soraya. Do you ride often in the Eastern Reaches?”
Before I could improvise an answer, a regal woman approached. She was perhaps in her early fifties, though her face showed few signs of age—just the faintest lines around her eyes and mouth. Her silvery-blonde hair, a contrast to her dark skin, was elaborately styled with lightning-glass pins, and her gown, though practical for riding, was clearly of the finest quality.
“Ah, Mother,” Alaric said, turning to greet her. “May I present Lady Soraya of the Eastern Reaches, the healer who saved Theron’s life, and her companion, Lord Rhyker.”
I curtsied deeply, recognizing her face from the ball when Rhyker had pointed her out—the sister of the late King and mother to Prince Alaric. The woman who would become the Queen Mother once her son was formally crowned.
“Your Royal Highness,” I said, keeping my eyes respectfully lowered.
“Rise, child,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I owe you my gratitude. Theron is my youngest, my baby. When I heard what happened...” She trailed off, emotion crossing her features. “How did you learn such an unusual technique? Our court healers were quite impressed.”
